


I love it when we play 1950

by hopelocklet



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Auror Harry Potter, Bottom Draco Malfoy, Friends With Benefits, Happy Ending, I Tried, Lucius Malfoy Being an Asshole, M/M, Pining, Top Harry Potter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-06
Updated: 2018-11-06
Packaged: 2019-08-19 20:52:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16542023
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopelocklet/pseuds/hopelocklet
Summary: Draco hates it when people try to chase him when he's out at the pub. But. He loves it when Potter tries to save him. So it becomes a thing.





	I love it when we play 1950

**Author's Note:**

> this is based on the song 1950 by king princess (loml)   
> there is a sex scene but it's not too explicit I don't think  
> I tried to make this angsty but idk if it worked  
> anyways... enjoy !!

Draco is not stupid. He knows he’s attractive, that his soft blond hair and chiseled facial features are appealing to both men and women. And he knows that wearing form fitting black trousers and his see-through black lace dress shirt will attract him quite a few admirers when he goes out to The White Wyvern on a Friday night. He breaks out that particular ensemble as often as he can without having Pansy and Blaise tease him for it. 

Contrary to what his friends believe, Draco doesn’t try to lure in the other patrons of the pub because he basks in the attention. In fact, he finds the half-drunk men and ditsy women who approach him offensive and disagreeable more often than not. Draco’s sole reason for leaning against the bar with hip popped out, which he knows shows off his honestly spectacular arse, is to be rescued by Harry Potter when an unwelcome suitor inevitably traps Draco in conversation. 

“Excuse me,” Potter will say in a stiff voice. His gaze will be cold- frigid, really- as he gives Draco’s admirer a disdainful once-over. “I’m Auror Potter. You’ve probably heard of me.” Draco will always want to roll his eyes at that part, but never will, because as ridiculous as it is, Potter’s high and mighty act still turns him on. “I’ve noticed you drinking a lot tonight. And now I see you advancing on Mr. Malfoy here, who is clearly uninterested. I think it would be it would be best for everyone involved if you left him alone now.”

As attractive as Draco is, he’s not attractive enough for any witch or wizard to risk getting on Harry Potter’s bad side. They’ll abandon their pursuit, just as Potter suggested, which will leave Draco alone with Potter. And that’s fine by him. It’s where he wanted to be from the start anyhow.

Harry will give him a look, one that says he knows what Draco’s doing, but he’ll never accuse Draco out loud. Instead, he’ll ask Draco about his mother, or work, or the insufferable crup Draco had taken in after Pansy proved to be a terrible pet owner. Though he’d never admit it, these conversations with Potter are Draco’s favorite part of his week- well, aside from the steamy hookups which always follow their conversations at the pub.

Draco knows that this thing they’re doing is going to get his heart broken, but, seriously, this Harry fucking Potter. If Draco falls for him- which, admittedly, happened within ten minutes of the first time Potter scared off one of his suitors- then it will be worth it. Draco wouldn’t trade anything, not even the new Gucci loafers he has his eye on, for those nights he gets with Potter.

It’s been something like three months of this little routine when Potter asks Draco about his father. Now, by this point Draco is in deep. He daydreams about Potter’s green, green eyes on the regular and has picked out the names of all the children he and Potter would have if Potter loved him back. But that doesn’t mean he’s going to let Potter pick conversation topics haphazardly without protest.

“Pardon?” 

Potter’s never asked Draco about his father. There are topics that they both always steer clear of by some unspoken agreement, including Lucius Malfoy, the time Draco saved Potter’s life, the time Potter saved Draco’s life, and the state of their increasingly confusing relationship.

“Your father? The prick with the ponytail and obsession with peacocks. You know who I’m talking about.”

“Obviously I know who my father is, Scarhead. I just don’t understand why you’re asking about him.”

Potter narrows his eyes at Draco from the other side of the booth that they slid into after Potter scared off the tipsy witch who had been flirting with Draco and practically hanging off his arm. Draco immediately looks down at the table to avoid Potter’s stare. He’s afraid that if Potter looks too close, he’ll be able to see right into his soul. It’s a dramatic thought, even for Draco, but that’s how intense Potter’s eyes are when he looks at Draco.

“I’ve been wondering, you know, if the community service he’s had to do has changed him at all. Made him a new man, maybe.”

Draco snorts. “Fuck off, Potter. You know that’s never going to happen. He’s still well pissed that he was charged in the first place. He doesn’t think he was in the wrong.”

“Bullshit.” Potter says it so forcefully that Draco forces his gaze upwards. He sees that Potter’s shoulders are tense and his jaw is clenched. Draco wants to hold him and kiss the furrow in his brow until it’s disappeared, but… That’s not going to happen. “You can’t break a man’s arm and nearly bash his skull in and still claim moral high ground. He has to know how fucked up that was.”

“Potter, my father couldn’t even see how being a Death Eater was fucked up. You need to give this up.”  

“No. Not until-”

“Until what? Until he turns a new leaf?” Draco’s lips curl into a sneer. “Until he decides to love his son unconditionally? Until the Prophet stops reminding people how he assaulted a stranger for being a faggot?” Draco is spitting out his words by the end of his spiel. 

Potter must notice something other than anger in Draco’s tone and expression, because his constantly cold stare transforms into something soft.

“Hey. Hey, Malfoy. No. That’s not what I was going to say.” He says it gently, like how he would talk to Teddy when he’s having a tantrum. 

Draco is taken aback by Potter’s warmth. He’s always so frigid and stiff when they’re in public. For some reason, Draco only feels more like crying after Potter’s attempt to calm him. 

“Whatever.” Draco crosses his arms and glares at the table. He knows he’s being petulant, but that’s not his fault. It’s Potter’s. Somehow. 

Potter frowns. “I’m sorry. Shouldn’t have brought it up.” Draco doesn’t say anything. “How’s Sappho?”

“Really? You’re going to ask me about my crup now?”

Potter shrugs. “I like your crup.”

Draco is aware of this. It’s one of the reasons he keeps Sappho around, even though she’s torn apart too many of his velvet throw pillows.

“She’s alright. She misses you, I think. Probably just because you spoil her with treats, though.”

Potter perks up at that. “How can you tell?” There’s an gleeful gleam in his eyes. He’s entirely too excited about this, Draco decides. 

“She steals your socks that you leave behind. I find them in her bed.”

“Yeah? Is that so?” Potter asks. Draco knows that Potter is fishing for something more than information about his pet. He wants to hear that Draco misses him as much as his crup does. Well. Sucks for Potter, because Draco’s not going to give him that. He’s given him too much already.

“Of course it’s so. I don’t have a reason to lie about Sappho’s sock fetish.” 

Potter barks out a laugh, one that somehow sounds overpowering and loud even in the noisy pub. Draco feels himself blush. He can’t help it. So much of the world gets so much of Potter, but laughs like those belong to Draco. And, unfortunately, sometimes they belong to the Weasleys and Granger, but they don’t exist on Friday nights at The White Wyvern. No one exists except for him and Potter on nights like this. 

Of course it’s just as Draco thinks this that Potter instantly shatters his illusion.

“There’s a lot of people here tonight. Pansy and Blaise finally convinced Theo to come out with them I see.” Potter’s looking over to a table across the pub where Pansy and Blaise seem to be trying to talk Theo into taking shots with them. Draco reluctantly pulls his gaze away from Potter’s unreal jaw line to glance at his friends. 

“Yeah. Guess he got tired of staring at the door of his flat every night hoping that his ex will come back.” Draco distracts himself by tracing the wooden patterns of the table with his thumb so he won’t have to confront the fact that many of his own nights have been spent the same way, waiting for Potter to stop by even though he knows he won’t. 

Potter turns his head back to look at Draco, and before Draco can stop himself, he looks up to meet Potter’s eyes. Merlin. Why? Why in God’s name does Potter have to look at him like that? Like he knows Draco better than Draco knows himself? It makes Draco want to stick his tongue down Potter’s throat and storm out of the pub simultaneously. 

“What?” Draco says, trying to sound defensive, though his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“Nothing. I’m sorry to hear that Theo hasn’t been doing well,” Potter says, and ‘Oh,’ Draco thinks. ‘He knows. He knows that I’m just like Theo. Pining and desperate to be loved by someone who will never feel the same.’ 

“Don’t be. He’ll get over it. If he can make it through both of his parents dying the same year, then he can make it through a nasty breakup.” 

Potter doesn’t look convinced. “That doesn’t mean that it’s easy for him. Especially, you know, if he really loves him. Or loved him. Are you sure he’s alright?”

“Yeah, I’m sure. I think I know Theo better than you do.” Draco sounds bitter and stubborn and he knows it. He doesn’t care. If Potter really wants to know if Draco’s okay, he can ask Draco without dancing around it and using Theo’s name as a stand-in. 

“You’re right. Sorry.” Potter’s tone is so sincere that Draco nearly dies of a melted heart right on the spot. 

“You should be,” Draco responds. It doesn’t come out as catty as he wanted it to, but at least he tried.  
“Are you cold?” Potter asks suddenly.

“Excuse me?”

“Your shirt’s not much of a, um, shirt. Doesn’t look like it provides much warmth,” Potter explains.

Draco looks down at his ensemble. It’s pretty obvious that this is his pulling outfit, and Potter’s seen it enough times to know that. “Um,” Draco says. He can’t figure out if Potter’s joking or not. Is Potter suggesting that he doesn’t appreciate being able to see Draco’s nipples through the lace? Because, frankly, that sounds like bullshit to Draco. “I thought you liked this shirt?”

“Oh,” Potter says. His face is now red, and Draco absurdly feels proud. “I didn’t mean- Like, of course I like it, Malfoy. It’s Dolce and Gannaba, right? You told me that once.”

“It’s Dolce and  _ Gabbana _ , actually,” Draco points out. “Check your facts before you try to talk designer clothing with me. Merlin.” Potter rolls his eyes and something like fondness crosses over features. Draco resolutely refuses to feel butterflies because of that.

“Oops.” Potter smiles apologetically, and it’s adorable, and if he could just not do that then it would be a whole lot easier for Draco to get over his stupid feelings for this stupid boy. “Seriously though, I just think you look cold. It’s November, you know. Maybe next week wear something from the winter collection.”

Draco has a million snarky replies on the tip of his tongue, including, but not limited to: ‘I can’t believe I live in a world where Harry Potter thinks he’s qualified to give style advice to Draco Malfoy’ and ‘If you’re insinuating that I’m wearing last season’s clothing then you can fuck right off, Scarhead.’ But Draco is kind of hoping that Potter will offer him his jacket, so instead he says, “Fine, Auror Potter. You caught me red-handed. I’m freezing my arse off. Happy now?”

Potter smiles. “Yes. Here, take my jacket.” He passes his jacket over the table and Draco doesn’t hesitate a second before he takes it and puts it on.

It’s a little big on Draco, because he’s skinny in places where Potter is well-muscled, but it’s- it’s nice. It smells like Potter and it’s not one of those hideous jackets he has with the Auror’s insignia emblazoned on the back. For something of Potter’s, it’s actually pretty fashionable. 

“How very noble of you.”

Potter shrugs. He’s still smiling. “Just doing my job as Savior.”

“My hero,” Draco deadpans. It only takes a few more seconds of Potter smiling at him in that dopey way for Draco’s resolve to break and smile back at him. 

“You, um-” Potter begins, and Draco’s heart rate picks up as he realizes what’s coming. “You want to get out of here?”

Draco hates that he blushes at that. Potter’s asked him the same thing at least a dozen times before, so it’s not like it’s something new. It’s just that hearing those words from Potter settles something in him. It proves that, yeah, even though Draco wants Potter so, so bad in every way possible, there’s at least one way in which Potter wants him back.

“Sure. My place or yours?”

“Well, if Sappho’s been missing me then I guess it should be yours.” Potter smiles with self-satisfaction like he’s just told a great joke. Draco should probably let him know that that wasn’t a joke, and he’s not funny, and if he thinks he is then he needs a serious reality check. But then Potter stands and holds his hand out for Draco to take, and his brain stops working.

“Okay,” Draco says. He takes Potter’s hand. As they walk through the pub to the exit where the nearest Apparition point is, Draco gets stuck on the thought that Potter is so bold. He’s hand in hand with a Death Eater in public, and he doesn’t care. In fact, he looks like he’s making sure everyone around them knows that he’s with Draco, that he’s the one going home with Draco. He smirks at the witch who had tried to flirt with Draco earlier and pulls Draco closer to him when they pass a group of rowdy wizards who are looking at the two of them with open disgust.

When they step outside they’re met with a biting wind. Draco barely feels it, thanks to the warmth of Potter’s jacket and the feeling of holding Potter’s hand. He only has a moment to revel in this warmth before Potter is Apparating them away to Draco’s flat. 

Besides Pansy, Potter is the only person that Draco allows through the wards to Apparate directly into his flat, so they land in Draco’s living room where Sappho is waiting in her over-priced dog bed, a throw pillow lying in pieces on the floor suspiciously nearby. Sappho lifts her head up to evaluate the intruders, and upon noticing that it’s Potter,  she runs over and barks excitedly. He chuckles as she runs circles around him, her little stubbed tail wagging all the while. Potter drops Draco’s hand when he crouches down to pet her, and Draco tries not to be bitter about it, but, really, Sappho is just a crup and Draco is an incredibly sexy man who’s about to have sex with Potter. 

“What a happy reunion,” Draco comments, unamused. 

Potter scrunches up his nose and smiles as Sappho licks his face. “You were right. She definitely missed me.”

Draco rolls his eyes and looks away. If he keeps watching Potter bond with his pet he’ll probably start nose-scrunching and smiling as well, and wouldn’t that be embarrassing.

“Okay, okay,” Potter says after another minute of Sappho showing him much more affection than she ever shows Draco. “Go back to bed, Sappho.” Sappho whines, and if Draco didn’t make the exact same noise every time he woke up to find that Potter was gone, he would think his crup was pathetic. Actually, scratch that. Draco is pathetic, and so is Sappho, and they both need to stop being obsessed with Potter. “I’m serious, Sappho. Draco and I have things to do.” Sappho tries crying for attention one more time before she reluctantly returns to her bed. 

Potter rises back up to Draco’s level and smiles charmingly. “Alright. Now what were we about to do? Make a cuppa?” 

“I thought you were going to fuck me,” Draco says bluntly as he moves to take off Potter’s jacket. 

“Oh, right. How could I have forgotten?” Potter helps Draco with the jacket and throws it onto the sofa. He then steps closer as if to kiss Draco, but Draco stops him with a hand on his chest. “What are you-” Potter starts to say, but when he sees Draco bend over and pull his wand out of his boot his words turn into a sigh. “Are you serious?”

“You have slobber all over your face,” Draco explains simply. He casts a few quick cleaning charms until he’s sure Potter is up to standards. “Okay. Good.” Without any further warning, Draco dives into a kiss. Hardly missing a beat, Potter kisses him back. No matter how many times it’s happened, Draco is always surprised when Potter kisses him. Half of it is because ‘Holy shit, I’m kissing Harry Potter’ and the other half is because of the way Potter kisses him. He kisses him gently, but not hesitantly. He knows when to push and when to pull back and when to squeeze Draco’s arse. And maybe this is just Draco’s unrequited love talking, but he swears every time he kisses Potter he feels something click into place. Something like, ‘Oh, this is it. This is where I should be. This is what I’ve been looking for. This is  _ home _ .’ 

After a particularly rough squeeze of his arse, Draco moans and drops his wand. The sound of it hitting the hardwood floor in the otherwise quiet room seems to remind Potter that they’re still in Draco’s living room. He pulls away from the kiss and runs his hands up Draco’s sides, rucking up the Dolce and Gabbana shirt, before coming rest on his waist. 

“We should- bedroom,” Potter says. His voice is deep in the way it only is when he’s pressed flush against Draco with his hands on Draco’s bare skin. 

“Yeah,” Draco agrees, pulling Potter towards the bedroom before  the word is even out of his mouth.

Potter takes the lead once they’re in Draco’s bedroom. He vanishes both of their shoes and socks without his wand, making Draco stumble into the bed. Draco lets Potter push him back onto the mattress and groans when Potter whispers another wandless spell to unbutton their shirts. For some reason, Draco finds Potter’s talent for wandless magic incredibly sexy.

Potter pulls Draco into another kiss, managing to slide Draco’s lacy number off his shoulders at the same time. Potter runs his hands all over the smooth skin of Draco’s back with something like reverence, but Draco doesn’t notice because he’s too busy trying to get Potter’s trousers off. By the time he’s finally done fumbling with the button and zipper, Potter has removed his own shirt and started to suck on Draco’s neck. Potter steps out of his trousers when they fall to the floor and proceeds to crawl on top of Draco. 

Draco just- he just  _ loves  _ this. He loves the way Potter covers his entire body with his own. He loves how Potter’s touches on his skin alternate between sweet, gentle caresses and rough, desperate grasps. He loves the feel of Potter’s hard cock against his thigh, only a few layers of fabric in between them. He loves Potter’s mouth putting bruises in places there shouldn’t be bruises. He loves- well, he loves Potter. And if Draco has anything to do with it, then Potter will never know this. 

After kissing his way down Draco’s chest, Potter slides Draco’s trousers and pants off all in one go. He then removes his own pants throws the clothes off the side of the bed before immediately turning his attention to Draco’s cock. He licks and sucks with no real intent or direction until Draco begs, “Potter, please.”

“Can I rim you?” Potter asks. He runs his hands along the underside of Draco’s thighs and looks up at him with dark eyes. 

Draco squirms. His thighs are burning from the feeling of Potter’s stubble rubbing against them, and when he looks at Potter’s lips, they’re red and soft and kissable. What was the question again?

“What?” Draco says. He feels dizzy as he watches Potter lick his lips.

Potter moves up the bed so that they’re chest to chest again. He kisses and kisses and kisses Draco until they’re both panting. Then, he rubs his thumb against Draco’s bottom lip and says very clearly, “I want to eat you out. Can I?” 

“ _ Yes _ ,” Draco says, because  _ duh _ . Potter’s rimmed him once before, three weeks ago, and since then Draco’s been dying for it to happen again. 

“Turn over,” Potter says, or rather, commands. He moves back so that Draco can roll onto his stomach and doesn’t wait a second before pulling Draco’s knees apart and settling between his legs. Draco groans as his cock rubs against the fabric of his comforter, but when he tries to rut against the mattress, Potter catches his hips and pulls them up until he’s satisfied with the position he’ll be working with. He takes off his glasses and sets them on Draco’s bedside table, and that alone sends a thrill down Draco’s spine.

Draco can feel Potter’s breath on his skin- he knows Potter’s mouth is so, so close to him, but not close enough. Just as Draco is about to complain, Potter grabs his arse and spreads his cheeks before diving right in. And, well. There’s a reason Draco has been praying that Potter would want to eat him out again since it happened last. It doesn’t take long for Draco to become an absolute mess. He’s moaning and panting and grasping at his bedding for something to ground himself before Potter’s even gotten his tongue properly inside. 

“Potter,” Draco makes out between heaving breaths. “Please. So good. More.”

Potter pulls back for moment at Draco’s words. He lifts one of his hands and brings it down hard on Draco’s bum, which may or may not cause an utterly obscene noise to fall from Draco’s lips.

“Call me Harry.” And then he’s at it again, his tongue back inside Draco before he really had time to miss it.

“ _ Harry _ ,” Draco moans. He can not only hear, but feel Harry’s responding groan.

After what feels like hours of Draco shaking with the pleasure from Harry’s mouth, the tongue pressing inside his rim is replaced with fingers. They’re lube-covered, so Draco must’ve missed how that happened while he was distracted by being eaten out. Harry probably did another wandless spell for it. The thought makes Draco harder, if that’s even possible.

Harry teases him, pushing in one finger only up to the first knuckle before moving it back again, even though Draco could probably take two fingers he’s so desperate at this point. 

“Harry, please,” Draco whines.

“You want more?” Harry asks, sounding all too smug.

_ Obviously,  _ Draco wants to say. But his head is so fuzzy from arousal that what comes out is, “Fuck, please.”

Harry starts prepping him with more finesse now, adding a second finger, then later a third, curling them just right so they hit Draco’s prostate. 

“Yes, yes. There. Fuck.”

“You’re so fucking pretty,” Harry says. He presses kisses down the line of Draco’s spine while still keeping the pace of the thrusts of his fingers. And, Merlin, Draco literally has Harry’s fingers inside him, but somehow hearing Harry say that he’s pretty feels more intimate. 

“Harry, I’m ready. Come on.”

Harry removes his fingers slowly, too slowly in Draco’s opinion, as he asks, “Do you want to roll over? Wanna look at you.”

Of course Draco rolls over. He’d never give up a chance to look into those green eyes. “Cause I’m so pretty?” Draco teases as he settles onto his back.

“Yeah, baby. So pretty.” Baby. Draco would probably cast a Bat-Bogey Hex on anyone else who tried to call him that, but, like, for some reason it sounds so right when Harry says it. Draco tries not to overthink why it sounds so right while Harry rolls on a condom.

“You ready?” Harry asks as he lines himself up.

“Yeah. Come on. Want you in me,” Draco says, pulling Harry closer to him with his legs.

Harry complies, pushing into Draco with intent and leaning over to kiss him as he does so. Draco loves it. He wants to have Harry inside of him as often as possible. Because this is just. Exquisite. He feels so full, and as Harry begins thrusting, fucking him properly, he thanks whichever God it was that put him on the planet at the same time as Harry Potter and his wonderful, spectacular dick. 

Draco bites Harry’s lip when he hits his prostate dead-on, and Harry shifts a little so that the angle is perfect for every thrust. After that, Draco is too blissed out to concentrate on kissing, so Harry turns the attention of his mouth to Draco’s neck, jaw, and earlobe. Draco makes little ‘uh, uh, uh’ noises every time Harry pushes inside that he’ll probably be embarrassed about later. 

“Fuck, Draco, love this, so good, fuck,” Harry rambles against Draco’s neck. “Come for me. Come on.” 

Draco scrambles to do as Harry says, wrapping a hand around his cock and stroking until he comes between his and Harry’s stomachs, mouth wide open in the shape of an ‘O.’ It doesn’t take long for Harry to follow him over the edge.

When Harry seems to gather his bearings, he pulls out of Draco carefully. 

“I’ll be right back, baby.” He kisses Draco chastely on the forehead before he leaves the room, presumably to get rid of the condom and maybe fetch Draco’s wand so he can clean himself up. 

Draco’s still breathing heavily when Harry returns, carrying both their wands and a glass of water for Draco. 

“Here,” Harry says gently. He hands Draco the glass and casts a cleaning charm that tickles Draco’s skin. 

“Thanks.” 

Harry smiles warmly at him. The way he’s smiling, Draco can almost pretend that they’re a real couple, that Harry’s going to crawl in bed with him now and that he’ll be here in the morning to make the two of them breakfast in bed. But, of course, they aren’t actually a couple, so the next thing Harry does is look around the room for his things. He seems to have collected most of his clothing when he starts to look like a lost puppy.

“Um, where are my shoes?”

“I- I think you vanished them.”

“Right. Probably wasn’t the best idea.”

“Probably.” 

Harry stands in the middle of Draco’s bedroom awkwardly, a bundle of clothes in one hand while his other hand rubs at the back of his neck self-consciously.

“You don’t have to, like, figure out the shoe situation now,” Draco suggests nervously. He can feel his heart in his throat. “I mean, you can stay here tonight.” He knows his offer doesn’t make sense, because realistically Harry could Apparate back to his own flat without shoes, or he could borrow some of Draco’s (which maybe is less realistic of an option, as Draco would sooner take a Crucio than risk letting Harry Potter scuff up his new Chelsea boots), but hopefully Harry is still dazed enough from the great sex to agree. Draco really, really, really doesn’t want to spend another night without him. 

Harry makes eye contact that makes Draco squirm. “Really?”

“Yes. We just had sex, so it’s no big deal to share a bed, right?” 

“I guess. I don’t want to be a bother,” Harry says even as he drops his clothes back on the ground. 

“You’re not a bother. You might even be decent cuddler.”

Harry grins all charming-like. “Oh, I’m far better than decent.”

“Prove it then,” Draco says, trying to sound flippant though his heart is beating way too fast to be normal. 

“‘Kay.” Harry gets back into bed with Draco and asks a bit sheepishly, “Can I be the little spoon?”

It catches Draco off guard, but in the best way possible. He wants nothing more in life than to spend all night with Harry nestled in his arms. “Anything for the Golden Boy.”

“Shut up, git.”

“Prat.”

“Pillock.”

Draco sighs, giving up the name-calling, and sets down his glass of water on the bedside table. Then he turns back to Harry, who’s already facing away from Draco, waiting expectantly for Draco to curl around him. Draco is so, so endeared with essentially no effort on Harry’s part. He needs to get ahold of himself, but that’s hard to do when his body lines up perfectly with Harry’s, when Harry settles his hand on top of the one Draco put on his stomach, when Draco’s head is at the perfect angle to press a kiss to the nape of Harry’s neck, when Harry makes a sound of contentment after Draco actually does kiss the back of his neck in a fit of self-indulgence. 

“Good night, Potter,” Draco whispers against his skin.

“G’night, baby,” Harry murmurs softly in return, clearly already drifting off.

Draco falls asleep to the fleeting thought that if he was really the baby between the two of them, then he would be the little spoon. 

In the morning, Draco comes to when he feels something in his hair. As he becomes more aware, he realises it’s fingers. Harry’s fingers. He’s smiling before he can stop himself.

“Wakey, wakey, Drakey,” Harry singsongs, and Draco’s smile turns into a scowl. 

“Who told you it’s okay to call me that?” Draco says, voice hoarse from sleep. 

“Sorry. Should I call you ferret face instead?” Harry suggests cheekily. 

Draco finds the willpower to open his eyes just enough to glare at Harry, who’s grinning down at him with his head propped up on one arm, unfairly looking like a fucking model even with his bedhead. 

“Good morning, f-”

“Don’t you dare say ferret face,” Draco warns.

“Maybe I was going to call you flower,” Harry says defensively. 

Draco fake-gags, but then Harry’s fingers are scratching at his scalp just right, and he makes a purr-like sound against his will. Harry chuckles. 

“You’re cute in the mornings,” he comments offhandedly, as if those words won’t keep Draco up at night overthinking things for the next- well, for the rest of his life really. 

“Thanks,” Draco replies dryly. “How long have you been up?” 

“Um, forty five minutes? Or more? I don’t know.”

“What? What have you been doing all this time? Staring at me while I sleep? Creep.”

Harry laughs and shakes his head. “As appealing as that sounds, I’ve actually had quite the productive morning.”

“Have you?” Draco asks disbelievingly.

“Yes.” Harry removes his hand from Draco’s head to count off on his fingers. “One: I let Sappho out. I borrowed your robe to go outside by the way. I hope you don’t mind. Don’t worry, it wasn’t the silk one,” Harry adds before Draco can protest. “Two: I fed Sappho breakfast. Three: I fixed breakfast for the two of us. I came in here to wake you up so we can enjoy it together.” 

“You made us breakfast?” Draco can physically feel his soul fill up with love. 

“Toast, eggs, and tea. Come on.”

It feels so, so easy to be like this with Harry. To be like boyfriends, walking hand in hand to the kitchen where the breakfast Harry made is waiting for them, laughing at the way Draco stumbles over himself because he’s “too tired” to open his eyes. So easy it hurts. 

“Potter,” Draco moans after sliding onto one of the bar stools at his kitchen counter and taking a sip of his tea. “Your tea is better than sex.” 

Harry smirks. “I bet I could change your mind about that.”

“Later. First let’s see if the wonder boy is as skilled at making breakfast as he is at saving the wizarding world.” 

“Alright,” Harry says cheerily. He puts a plate of toast with strawberry jam and sunny-side up eggs in front of Draco and stares expectantly at him. 

“Why are you looking at me like that?”  
“I want to see if you like it.” 

Draco eyes Harry speculatively. “You’ve poisoned it, haven’t you?”

That startles a laugh from Harry. “No, I have not. Just fucking eat it.”

“Bossy,” Draco comments with a raised eyebrow, but he bites into the toast anyhow. 

“Well?”

“Wow. Congratulations, Potter. You’ve managed to not fuck up the simplest breakfast food of all time. Truly astounding,” Draco deadpans.

Harry rolls his eyes, though he’s still smiling. “Only the best for you, baby,” he says as he picks up his own plate and joins Draco at the counter. 

As they eat, Harry coaxes Draco into a conversation about his work at Gringotts. Harry is tracing shapes on Draco’s bare knee with his thumb while he listens intently to Draco’s story about the witch who came in to the bank the other day to get a loan so she could open a hattery for owls and toads when it suddenly hits Draco how lucky he is. Harry Potter is literally the perfect man, and here he is with Draco. He wants to be here with Draco. He thinks Draco is  _ pretty _ .

“She sounds barmy-”

“Did you mean it?” Draco abruptly interrupts. 

“Mean what?” Harry asks, a sweet little line of confusion appearing between his eyebrows.

“When you said I was pretty.” Draco does not want to have said those words. Everyone knows that when a cute boy who could also very well be the love of your life calls you pretty you don’t question it. But Draco just wants to know. He wants to know how real all of this is to Potter and how much of it is just sex.

“What? Draco, of course I meant it.” Harry turns his whole body toward Draco and lifts Draco’s chin with a careful finger. “I try to mean everything I say when it comes to you.”

That has the potential to make Draco cry, so he shakes Harry’s hand away and tries to make the conversation light again.  “Did you mean it when you called me a git?”

“Well, yes. But can you blame me?”

Draco tries to laugh, but his throat feels too tight, too dry. 

“I also meant what I said to you on the day of your father’s trial.”

And- What?

“What?”

“You remember,” Harry says. 

Draco  _ does  _ remember. He remembers pacing outside Courtroom Seven, smoothing down his suit and adjusting the jacket, but never seeming to get it to fit right. That’s what he got for trusting his tailor’s apprentice with his alterations when his tailor was out of town. Draco was just about to tear the jacket in half out of frustration when Harry appeared beside him. 

“Malfoy, stop it,” he said. “You look good.”

Draco remembers a hot flash of embarrassment and forcing himself to let his hands drop to his side. He remembers snorting at Harry’s comment and shaking his head. 

“Funny, Potter.”

“I’m not trying to be funny,” Harry said. He paused. “I’m sorry that this is happening.”

“I’m choosing to look on the bright side, you know. Second time my father’s being convicted, and third time’s the charm, so maybe the next time I have to go to one of these stupid things it will be the last time,” Draco said bitterly.

Harry chewed on his lip- his gorgeous, infuriating, maddeningly beautiful bottom lip which Draco would spend ages agonizing over- while he looked over Draco pensively.

“You don’t deserve this.” He said it like it was an indubitable fact. 

“I don’t deserve anything.” 

“That’s not true,” Harry responded immediately, like it was very important to him that Draco didn’t believe that. “You deserve- I don’t know, something that’s not- not this, I guess. You deserve a father who’s not a homophobic piece of shit, for one. You deserve to be loved.”

“Uh huh. Sure. Come on, Potter, we should probably go in. It starts at 12:00.”

That Friday, Draco wore his lace dress shirt to The White Wyvern and went home with Potter for the first time. 

“I’m confused,” Draco says, shaking his head as if that will clear everything up. “You meant it when you said my father was a piece of shit? Or you meant the other thing?”

Harry rolls his eyes. “All of it.” There’s a beat of silence. “But mostly the other thing. You deserve to be loved.” Harry swallows before speaking again, and for some reason Draco even thinks his Adam’s apple is lovely when it moves. “That’s what I’ve been trying to do all this time.” 

Draco blinks. “Trying to love me?” He’s stupefied, and not in the magic way.

Harry’s eyes are as earnest as his voice as he says clearly, “Yes. I do love you. I don’t want to push you to feel the same or anything, I just- I can’t help it. And if you want, like, space or time or something to figure out how you feel that’s fine. I’ll wait for you. But I think you should know. Know that I love you, that is.”

“Harry, I- I fucking hate going to the pub on Fridays.”

“Um, okay?”

“No, listen. Listen. I hate it. And I hate all the people that hit on me. But I love it when you come to save me. I would never go to The White Wyvern if it weren’t for you. But I go every week because I need it. I need to see you. Because I love you too.”

Suddenly, there’s lips on Draco’s lips and a hand on his waist and another in his hair. It’s better than any kiss he’s shared with Harry, and that’s saying something. It’s better because there’s love there, not there was ever a lack of love, but now Draco can recognize it. 

“You taste like strawberries,” Draco says in a daze when Harry pulls away.

“It’s the jam.”

They smile at each other dopily for a second until something occurs to Draco.

_ “Harry Potter, if you put a sticky jam hand in my hair I will fucking decapitate you.” _

Harry laughs, and Draco would decapitate him, really, but giving up Harry Potter when he’s only just realized that Harry loves him back would be outrageously stupid. And Draco is not stupid.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading :)   
> I hope you liked it


End file.
